Storm Bound

by Dani Harper

  When the price was set and their business concluded, Annwyl went outside to look over some gray geese being herded by a small boy. Aidan approached Deykin with the silver needle case in his hand. “Your daughter takes her duties seriously, and she has but recently lost her mother. I would not presume to give her a gift without your permission, but it is my hope to bring a small bit of happiness to her if you will allow it.”

  Deykin nodded. “Annwyl is the measure of her mother, and we could not have hoped for a more devoted daughter. Of course you may give it to her.” He had chuckled then. “Although it is a clever and comely piece, I’ve a feeling the giver might well please Annwyl more than the gift.”

  Aidan came to himself with a start. He was still in the restaurant, still seated at Robert Bell’s table, although the man himself had long since paid for his expensive meal and left. It was past time for Aidan to go too. No one saw the great black dog glide down the aisle between the tables and booths, then pass through the front door without having to open it.

  The quarter moon was high in the human world as Aidan dissolved into dust and allowed the wind to return him to the faery realm. There, the moon was round and full, only just beginning its journey into a sky filled with thousands of stars. Aidan still had no idea how such a thing was possible. Was he looking at the very same moon in a different time, or a strange and different moon in an unknown sky? The kingdom of the Tylwyth Teg was filled with questions unanswerable to mortals. Did the Fair Ones themselves still know the answers?

  It didn’t matter now. Aidan finally had the answers he had needed for centuries, the memory of Annwyl and all that they had shared. The many recollections filled his heart and head to bursting, tumbling over one another as if each was vying for his attention. But there was another memory too, so clear and sharp it cut him to think of it—he remembered exactly how he had lost her. Grief and rage roiled in his gut as he recalled Celynnen’s callous, unspeakable act.

  Annwyl was dead, forever beyond his reach.

  He could not remain in this kingdom one moment more. With the fury that filled him, he would no longer be able to stop himself from attacking his keepers, and as yet, he had no weapons that could aid him. Despite his size and power as a grim, he would be brought down effortlessly, snarling and snapping like a rabid dog, with a single spoken word of magic. If he was ever to have his revenge upon Celynnen, his first step must be to escape. According to the plans he had laid, he headed for the stone kennels, the habit of a thousand years, but at the last moment he deliberately veered from the luminous path. Lurien no doubt anticipated that the grim would attempt his escape from the human world above—gods knew, it would be easier. Aidan was hoping, however, to lay a false trail by returning to the enchanted land beneath the Black Mountains of Wales and making his exodus from there.

  The timing would be a surprise as well. The Lord of the Wild Hunt would expect the grim to take his advice and leave near dawn. He’d even made a point to specify mortal dawn, for there might be several dawns or none in the fae realm between now and then. There was nothing really wrong with Lurien’s counsel—except that the dark fae would be watching for Aidan to make a move at that time. There was a slim chance, however, that with other duties to attend to, Lurien might not be on his guard with the mortal night still new.

  With his back to the kennels, Aidan headed for the royal gardens—another move that would be unexpected. No grim came here, no dark creature cast a shadow here, whether it was a true member of the kingdom or not. His great black paws were silent as he padded by the innumerable flowers of sizes and colors not found in the world above. Fountains that had been carved from clear crystal glittered in the moonlight, graced by hundreds of sculptures of heart-stopping beauty. One gave him pause, however—it was the only artwork he had ever seen here that included a human. Cast in simple bronze, a mortal woman sat beside a faery. Their heads were bent close together and they were laughing over a book. A pair of stocky pug dogs with tightly curled tails—a favored breed of the royal house that was frequently traded for from the mortal world—romped at their feet with a ball. Aidan crept closer. The exquisite face of the faery revealed her to be a young Queen Gwenhidw. He had seen her only a handful of times since he’d been brought here, and always at a distance, but Gwenhidw’s face was unforgettable. Even her grandniece, Celynnen, could not match her great-aunt’s goddesslike splendor. The mortal woman could only be the queen’s beloved friend, the legendary Aylwen. Their friendship had been extraordinary—marked by something that few, if any, humans had ever enjoyed: Aylwen had had the right to come and go from the faery realm as she pleased. It seemed to Aidan that granting such freedom only proved that the queen truly had the capacity not only to love but to love deeply, a rare thing among the Fair Ones. More so, it was said that Gwenhidw and her husband had also enjoyed the closest of bonds, inseparable in all things—until the king had been betrayed and murdered, and the Nine Realms of the kingdom thrust into disarray.

  This simple statuary represented a more innocent time. And although Gwenhidw possessed unearthly beauty, it was the face of her human companion that commanded Aidan’s attention. He also had known a more innocent time, and as he stared, he saw not the queen’s dearest friend, but his own beloved Annwyl. She had sometimes worn her hair in a similar fashion, long braids circled into a clever crown.

  It had been a challenge for Aidan to unwind those fine braids with his big, work-roughened hands—he had had far less trouble undoing the layers of her dress—but it was worth the time and trouble to free her shining black hair. Soft and sweet-smelling, her hair tumbled over her naked shoulders and past her rounded hips. He delighted in parting the thick wavy curtains of her hair to uncover first one pert nipple, then the other. They were as inviting to the taste as dark strawberries, and the soft weight of her breasts in his hands was as heady as the strongest ale.

  They had lain together for the first time after their betrothal, reaching for each other eagerly in the warm golden straw of a summer field. His strong fingers made gentle by love, Aidan could still feel the smoothness of her skin, feel Annwyl’s curves as he glided a hand over her from shoulder to thigh. Could still feel the air leave his lungs at the first welcome press of her skin to his, feel the racing of his heart as her soft body conformed to his hard, muscled frame. Could still see the inviting cradle of her hips and the glistening vee between her legs just before—

  Aidan blinked as though awakening from a dream. Love and loss mingled to create a bitter taste on his tongue. His newly regained memories both delighted his heart and brutally stabbed it to the core, and he would have to be more careful in the future about allowing the past free reign. It was a distraction he could not afford. A glance at the sky—if the fae moon could be trusted—showed that he had lingered much longer than he’d intended.

  Other senses told him he had been wrong about Lurien. Perhaps fatally so.

  Aidan’s canine nostrils picked up the oddly metallic scent of ozone on the breeze at the same time that a faint vibration in the ground made his feet tingle and his gut clench—despite the fact that he didn’t exist in a purely physical state, danger felt the same to every creature, fae or mortal. Aidan, who was neither hot nor cold, felt a chill along his spine as he turned and saw black clouds roiling on the far horizon of the faery realm. The Wild Hunt had been loosed—and the hunters had not ridden to the mortal world above.

  If there had ever been a time when the Hunt tore up the emerald sod and trampled the exquisite blooms of the immortal realm, Aidan hadn’t heard of it. A prisoner of a thousand years, he had never once witnessed lightning in fae skies, nor heard the thunder of deadly hooves and the baying of faery hounds.

  It’s me they’re looking for. Had an alarm been raised automatically when he didn’t return to the kennels after a certain length of time, or had Lurien kept someone watching him all along? The answer no longer mattered. Aidan began to lope through the other-worldly landscape with renewed determination, faster and
faster, until he was but a blur. He finally had a chance to leave this place, to find a way to fulfill his vow to bring down Celynnen. But only if he could outrun the Hunt.

  The moon still hid behind black storm clouds. He hoped it was a sign that only hours and not days had passed—although night and day followed no mortal clock here. Aidan didn’t know what whim caused the sun to rise when the stars were still out, or whose will caused a day to pass in an instant, like a flower that bloomed only for moments before dying. All he knew was that the Hunt was still following him despite his use of every fox’s trick he remembered from his mortal life. Constantly changing direction bought him time yet cost him almost as much—it was taking far too long to reach his planned destination. Dissolving into dust and allowing his particles to be spirited along by the breeze was effective—the hounds and the horses couldn’t seem to find him very easily in that state—yet it was an agonizingly slow way to travel.

  Forever had surely passed before Aidan finally found his way to the Silver Maples. Ten thousand trees strong, the mighty grove had been planted a hundred centuries ago. Their silver and sage leaves fluttered on the great overarching branches like butterflies and massed so thickly that no sun ever reached the ground far below. Scores of dark paths wound through the enormous trees, made by strange fae creatures that could not abide light. Even the soft rays of the moon were too much for the residents of the Maples. But that didn’t mean they were weak and helpless. There were no visitors to this place, no travelers passing through. Only prey.

  Even the Tylwyth Teg, with all their magics, avoided this place as much as possible. And that made it perfect for a fugitive like Aidan. He remained formless, floating slowly over the ground, following first this narrow path and then that one, until the edge of the forest had closed behind him in a solid wall that locked out all the light. Only then did he dare to solidify, his great paws striking the soft earth in a dead run.

  A grim could perceive things beyond the physical, a necessity in order to perform his melancholy tasks. Those abilities helped him now. His ghostly, glowing eyes required no light to see varying shades and shadows within the blackness. Some didn’t move. Many did. As he ran, he was often aware of eyes watching him pass. A few he could see, and others he could only feel the intensity of their assessing gaze, but all turned away. As a grim, he was big enough that most of the hidden creatures of the Maples wouldn’t bother him. Many of those that could consider it would be repelled as soon as they sensed the bright silver of his collar.

  If his only goal was to disappear, this was the ideal place to do it. But Aidan had a bigger goal. With an innate sense of direction that didn’t need sun or stars to steer by, he headed for the Gray Gate that lay beyond the forest. Older than the trees and ornately carved into a stone hillside, the Gray Gate was like all of the kingdom’s gates—it wasn’t a door at all but a way, connecting far-flung destinations as if they were merely in an adjoining room. Most of the existing ways were much smaller, and they assisted Aidan in his morbid work by allowing him to pass to various places in the mortal realm directly above. But all those deaths over the centuries had taken place in his tiny homeland of Cymru—Wales. The Gray Gate was one of the greater ways, leading to faraway places he’d only heard of.

  Like across the Deep Waters.

  The darkness that surrounded him slowly began to loosen its black grip. Ahead, he could see the tiny pinpricks of deep gray that revealed themselves as faint gaps in the trees, allowing a scant modicum of the moon’s light to penetrate. He could almost see the edge of the forest when a pack of warths swarmed out of the underbrush behind him.

  The striped creatures were twice as tall as he was, lithe and strong like wolves—if wolves had scales. They yowled and popped their long-toothed jaws in a staccato hunting cry, anxious for a taste of blue blood. As big as a grim was, there wouldn’t be more than a bite for each, but the warths didn’t care. Like most fae-constructed creatures, Aidan would feel little pain. But he would be very, very dead just the same, and he could not fulfill his vow from beyond the grave.

  He ran, a great black shadow amongst shadows, his claws digging into the forest floor, where thousands of seasons of silvery leaves had fallen. It was difficult to get much traction in the soft, slippery mulch, but the warths were equally disadvantaged. They relied on ambush more than the chase—but they weren’t giving up. Snapping teeth managed to yank the fur from the end of his tail. A faster warth slashed him from hip to hock with its fangs, and only Aidan’s quick dive between the roots of a tree and out the other side interrupted that attack.

  He could see the edge of the forest now. The massive trees were smaller here, younger than the giants whose canopies blocked out the sky, and farther apart. The moon’s rays struck the ground here, creating pale stepping-stones of dappled light, and Aidan deliberately steered into them. Three warths followed him closely, far too intent on bringing him down to notice their danger. They yelped as the seemingly innocent glow fell upon their scales and burned them badly.

  The moon was the enemy of all who made the Silver Maples their home. With howls of disappointment and rage, the warths fell back.

  Still running hard, Aidan broke free of the trees and headed for the mountainside beyond. A grim’s heart did not beat, but he was laying a trail of blue blood just the same. But then, if the Hunt followed him very far into the forest, they’d guess where he was going anyway.

  As he approached, the massive Gate loomed larger than ever, taller than the tallest maple, and far more imposing. The stone was covered with deep-cut carvings of animals and birds, fish and flowers, in a style that borrowed from the ancient and talented Celts, and surpassed them easily. In fact, most of the mountainside surrounding the gate had been similarly carved, with panoramic scenes fading into the distance on either side.

  Aidan paused, partly in awe at the scale and scope of the creation, and mostly because he couldn’t believe he was actually going to leave his country. He didn’t have much left to identify with after a thousand years, but the land—the land was part of him and he was part of it. Wasn’t he? One side of him wondered how he could go, but the more sensible side asserted that he had already left long, long ago. He wasn’t in Wales—he was under it, enslaved to thoughtless masters. When he did walk above, it was in a land much changed from what he knew, and he was doing it on four feet. Not only that, he was forever the silent bearer of the worst of news to anyone who actually saw him. Cut off from the land of the living, removed from his natural form and feelings, isolated from his own kind, and looked down upon by most of the Fair Ones—of what use was it to stay in “his” country?

  Especially when the Lord of the Wild Hunt might not expect him to leave it…

  Aidan snorted. He’d been completely wrong in his estimation of Lurien so far—how mad was it to gamble everything on another guess? Yet, mad or not, traveling to the ends of the earth for the slimmest of chances was far better than lingering in his homeland, where he was certain to be ridden down sooner rather than later. There was no place he could hide and no hope at all here…

  At least not now, he thought, as the stone gate towered over him.

  A grim didn’t need to breathe to exist but instead used the action to control his form. Aidan breathed out and out and out, dissipating from solid to shadow. He passed between the great monolithic gate as easily and soundlessly as he had passed through Maeve’s front door. And he found himself in a world he had not imagined.

  The ocean had many moods, from calm glassy waters that mirrored the many colors of the sky to raging dark waves that foamed like mad horses champing brutal bits. The Gray Gate had deposited him far from the sight of land. Formless, Aidan drifted with the winds just above the water for a while. He didn’t want it to be too apparent to any pursuers which direction he was headed—and besides, he didn’t know himself where he was going. He could sense his homeland like a fading beacon in the distance, but it was difficult to plot a course from it. For the first time eve
r he wished he were a sailor and not a blacksmith. The winds from the north and east were sure to be very cold, the ones from the west and south to be warm, but he couldn’t feel them, not physically. Nor could he feel the salt spray that occasionally leapt up as if to snatch his scattered particles from the air. It seemed wrong to be so free and yet so detached from the natural world all around him. His human body would have been very uncomfortable, even endangered by the situation, yet Aidan couldn’t help but wish he could feel something.

  And then he did feel something: the faintest pulse of unease, a prickle not on the skin but in the mind. As a fae creation, a grim possessed instincts that humans had never known, powerful primal connections to the earth’s many energies—and ripples in those energies. Although Wales was at least a thousand miles behind him, Aidan knew the very instant that the Wild Hunt picked up his trail through the Silver Maples.

  What now? In his present formlessness, Aidan couldn’t move very quickly. It was difficult to propel a loose association of particles, especially if the prevailing wind was against him. Resuming his shape wasn’t an option, however. If he did, he could slice through the air, using it to attain real speed—but the moment he solidified, the Hunt would detect him even through the distance that separated them. Aidan’s preternatural senses told him that Lurien’s wild band was still tracking him over the cold seas that lapped at Wales on three sides, the Hunt’s hounds and horses casting back and forth in the gusts of salt air for his barely discernible trail. Aidan was glad now that he’d thought to allow the winds to take him in many directions at first—too bad it wouldn’t slow his pursuers for long.

  He spiraled upwards, straining to reach the upper levels of the sky that would permit him to see farther than even his fae abilities would allow. Here, the moon shone like a great frozen pearl. It was from that rarefied atmosphere that Aidan discerned the dark line of thunderheads on the northeastern horizon, blacker than the night sky. Vortices spun off the malignant clouds and stabbed at the surface of the ocean as ghostly waterspouts, illuminated by flashes of ill-colored lightning. The storm was unnatural, of course, created by the powerful and discordant energies of the Hunt.